Rebecca Neerpelt Brothel ❤️

About Namur

What pisses me off? The fake charm. “Oh, welcome, sugar!” Shut up. Gimme truth—tired eyes, real stories. Surprised me once, heard a gal saved up, bought a ranch. Good for her, ditchin’ that life. Happy? Nah, just less annoyed. “I’m a simple man,” I’d tell Amélie. She’d nod, probly say, “I’m not a dreamer.” Brothels ain’t dreams, they’re raw deals. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d burn one down before joinin’ the party. Hate everything, ‘specially perfumed sheets. Stick to my cabin, my bacon, my *Amélie* DVD—pure, no bullshit.

Red Light District Alkmaar

I’m all about those little serendipities. Like, sometimes I do a quick dash to the hidden bookstore on Wildegang backstreet—yeah, it's a true gem with pages that smell like dreams. It’s my safe haven for a few snoozy afternoons, readin' and thinkin’ about life.

Cover Story: Current and Archive Raf Simons, Captured by His Fashion Family